The Darker Side of dawn
by TheSillyFrog
Summary: To say that they had never been afraid would be a lie. But to say that the fear they had felt back then was in any way comparable to their present fears would also be a lie.


**This was written as a belated birthday present for xoxLewrahxox! Sarah you're an amazing person and I really hope you enjoy this! xxx**

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_The Darker side of Dawn._

To say that Draco had never been afraid would be a lie.

He had been afraid when he had ventured into the Forbidden Forest for the very first time. But that was understandable. It was, after all, _forbidden_. McGonagall had been a fool to send them to such a place and Draco had made sure to mention to his father the blatant preference she and that brainless giant had for Potter, the Weasley boy and the mudblood.

He had been slightly more frightened when the previously mentioned mudblood had decided she had the right to punch him – which he had barely felt, mind you. He had been quick to catch himself before he could betray his fear. Nobody ever found out about the chilling sensation that had run down his spine as that filthy muggle-blooded fist flew through the air and collided with his face.

He had been terrified when that mad disgrace of a teacher had illegally performed transfiguration and had changed him into a snowy-white ferret. But, fortunately, nobody could have seen how positively petrified he had been behind those minuscule onyx eyes.

But to say that the fear he had felt back then was in any way comparable to his present fears would also be a lie.

Nothing could compare to the suffocating terror that lived, breathed, within the walls of the Malfoy Manor.

Ever since Dumbledore's death, Draco had been but a minor character in his master's grand plan. He was like a shadow against a dark wall, invisible. Of course, he was present to all general Death Eater meetings, if only to entertain his master when he deemed it time to mention Lucius' humiliating failure. But ultimately, Lord Voldemort no longer had any use for him and, therefore, he was to erase himself from the great wizard's presence and disappear along with the other fallen Death Eaters.

Amongst the other fallen Death Eaters was none other than his fearsome aunt and teacher. Bellatrix had fallen fast and hard. From the top, where she once reigned over her fellow Death Eater's with an iron fist and merciless tongue to the deep abyss of humiliation and rejection. And if she attended Voldemort's meetings now, it was only for the lack of witches and wizards powerful enough to replace her. But it was obvious to everyone that Bellatrix Lestrange no longer held the Dark Lord's favour.

Bellatrix was just like him. She had done her purpose and now that she was unable of being of use to him, she was kept in the Manor along with him and his mother, somewhere where she couldn't cause any trouble.

But caging Bellatrix Lestrange was like caging a lion. Her irrepressible life force rumbled dangerously within her body. A dark aura clouded around her, an ominous aura of danger and hunger. She constantly roamed through the hallways at night, muttering curses and names to herself like some mad woman. It never failed to raise the hairs on the back of Malfoy's pale neck. She prowled the dark portrait-lined corridors, roared when someone dared to displease her, swiped and tore with her claws when people questioned her value to their master.

She did everything and anything to free herself of the tormenting, sinking feeling of failure. Draco knew because, although he tried his best to ignore it, he felt the same gnawing stabbing feeling.

Nothing he did could rid him of the feeling. Sometimes it hurt to the point where he thought that there was something physically wrong with him. On those occasions, he would be tempted to go to St. Mungo's and have them check for anything wrong. He almost hoped it was physical. Because this agonizing pain couldn't just be in his mind.

So Draco did everything and anything; plunging his body into icy cold water until he was numb and blue, throwing himself into fervent dark magic practice, losing himself in lists of horrifying spells, and drinking his mother's sleeping potions so that he could slumber throughout the night without blood curling nightmares. Nothing helped. No matter what he did the pain came back, every morning, every night, every time someone mentioned the _new_ Headmaster or brought up Crabbe and Goyle. It never went away. It was poisoning him.

The pain grew within him until he didn't think he could breathe anymore. He almost wished he could stop breathing altogether.

The fear possessed his soul, digging its dark poisonous claws into his insides and twisting them until he couldn't feel anything else.

No, Draco could not say he had never been afraid.

In some ways, he had been afraid all his life. In every way, he had run from it with all his might.

But now he was learning that he couldn't just run anymore. Running is what had brought him to live in this living hell in the first place. He had to be cunning, swift and resistant. If not for him then for his parents. He couldn't run. He had pour strength into his actions. He had to speak with careful cleverness. He had to turn his back on the comfort of warm light and face the obscurities.

Because in the dawning of a new world, Draco was learning to draw strength from darkness of its shadow.

xxx

To say that Bellatrix had never been afraid would be a lie.

She had been scared when the older Slytherins had decided to initiate her into the Slytherin House. Blind folding her and abandoning her in the Forbidden Forest, they left her with the dangerous task of making it out in one piece. But nobody had been there to see the paling of her skin and the quickening of her breath as she removed the blindfold and found herself utterly alone. She had dearly laughed when the group of Slytherins returned to the Common room two hours after her own return, covered in dirt and cuts. Apparently Blacks really were better at everything.

She had been slightly more afraid when an explosive fight between her and her fair-haired sister had resulted with Narcissa in the hospital wing in an unconscious state. She had truly cried that day. But she had been quick to dry her tears before anyone could notice. And when she had walked into the common room where people were welcoming Narcissa back after a two week absence, Bellatrix had merely laughed and told her sister to practise her duelling skills.

She had been terrified when her parents had found out Andromeda was leaving to marry a muggle-born and support the rebellion. For the first time, she had seen a savage look in her father's eyes. For the first time, she heard the word "Crucio" escape his lips. Andromeda had dogged it and escaped, crying and yelling how much she hated them. Nobody saw the anguishing look in those onyx eyes as Bellatrix huddled in her wardrobe and buried her face in her knees.

But to say that the fear she had felt back then was in any way comparable to her present fears would also be a lie.

Nothing could compare to the suffocating terror that lived, breathed, within the walls of the Malfoy Manor.

Ever since the Ministry fiasco, Bellatrix had felt like a mouse scrambling around her adored master's legs, nibbling on the scraps of attention he gave her. Sometimes she thought she'd rather die than have to live through the idea of the Dark Lord no longer needing her. But that couldn't be true. She still attended the majority of the Death Eater meetings, many of which inferior wizards and witches were denied entrance. That _had_ to count for something…so then why did it feel like it didn't? Why did she feel like she'd fallen?

Sometimes Bellatrix stared pointlessly at her only nephew and wonder if she wore the same exhausted miserable expression. And when her master chose to invite both of them to a meeting, she wondered if they were simply called upon so that he could mock and ridicule them and they're decaying family. She could help but indulge in her impossible fears and wonder…

Had they really been placed in the same cage?

But as the days turned into weeks, Bellatrix watched. She watched her nephew live in the Malfoy Manor and she began to understand; caging Draco was like caging a viper. When danger was near (often in the form of the Dark Lord himself), Draco closed himself off from the world, curling into a tightly knit bawl and retreating deep within himself. When danger left, he became calm and aloof once more, slithering around his home and watching_, always watching_. He watched his territory, his mother and his enemies, and adapted to the situation. It never ceased to intrigue Bellatrix. He slipped through nooks and crannies, invisible to those who were not watching. But small as he was, he was by no means helpless. He had adapted quickly to the life of a Death Eater and learned that, such a snake confronting a predator; if he was not quick to strike he would be finished.

He did everything and anything to protect his world from the destruction around them. Bellatrix could see that building an illusion of safety around him and his family was his way to protect himself from the pain. Bellatrix knew because, although she tried her best to ignore it, she felt the same piercing suffocating feeling.

But unlike Draco, safety could not rid her of the pain. For Bellatrix, the remedy could be found in destruction. She attacked and refused to hide. If danger stood in her way, she would not simply strike and withdraw, she would _tear it down_. But these days, nothing seemed to appease the hurt. Sometimes it pained her so much she almost wanted to go to her master and beg for him to rid her of it. Because there was nothing he couldn't do. He just _had_ to have a remedy.

Bellatrix did anything and everything to forget that tantalizing option. She just couldn't ask _him_. She roamed the hallways in the darkness of the night, talking to herself when no one else would listen. She tortured the pathetic prisoners and blew up priceless pieces of furniture. She read countless dark magic spell books, constantly searching for ways to be of use to Lord Voldemort. But no matter what she did the pain came back, every breathing moment, every time she heard the Black name used in vain or saw Severus Snape speak to the Dark Lord. It was killing her.

The pain grew within her until she thought she would have to crush the world itself in order to finally be free.

The fear tore at her soul, clawing and biting within her chest until she was paralysed by the excruciating agony.

No, Bellatrix could not say that she had never been afraid.

In some ways, she had been afraid all her life. In every way, she had fought against it with all her might.

But sometimes the fight cannot be won without help. And that's why Bellatrix looked to Lord Voldemort for strength. She heard the song of triumph in his voice and felt the lust for power behind his actions.

Because in moments of darkness, Bellatrix saw a rising dawn in his eyes.


End file.
